


The Pardon

by Tom_Tomorrow



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Big Sister Alex Danvers, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Protective Maggie Sawyers, Terrorism, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tom_Tomorrow/pseuds/Tom_Tomorrow
Summary: “Well if those reports are true, it begs the question- who has been in prison for the last seven months?”.. .. .. .. .. ..“Weapons. Cellphones. Sharp objects. Anything metallic needs to be removed before going on the airfield. They will be stored in the locker here at the base entrance and returned as mandated at the end of the visit-”Maggie is listening.She is, but the words sift straight through her mind, storing themselves down deep where she doesn’t have to process them immediately, because oh she is so, so angry.... ...... ....Seven months after the Oval Office terror attack, Supergirl is pardoned by the President, and absolved of all wrongdoing. Lucy, Alex, and Maggie go and get Kara back.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer, Kara Danvers & Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 15
Kudos: 207





	The Pardon

**Author's Note:**

> A little short story based off a request I got from a comment! I really enjoy bringing people's ideas to life.

“Breaking News!”

“-reports of flames visible from the interior of the Oval Office-”

“-White House is on apparent lockdown after alleged act of terror-”

”-there are multiple reported fatalities. At least ten more injured, currently being airlifted to Bethesda, Hopkins and other local hospitals. Fire fighters have been attempting to extinguish the blaze in the left interior of the Oval Office for about ten minutes-”

“- and according to multiple reports the perpetrator appears to be none other than Supergirl.”

“- you must ask yourself what the screening process for these people is. She magically appears in what, 2015, fighting for the ‘greater good’, under a pseudonym. Supergirl. And let me tell you, you won’t find that name on any birth certificate, government record, not so much as a driver’s license. And no one batted an eye. And now she’s a terrorist. This is what happens when you let them in unvetted-”

“- Supergirl has been apprehended by highly trained Special Operation Team Six Alpha Zero after returning to the scene-”

“- the National City’s division of the Department of Extranormal Operations has been shut down effective immediately, pending an ongoing investigation by the Department of Defense in relation to the recent terror attacks. -“

“Secretary of State Maurice Schmidt, 67, has succumbed to his injuries. The political statesman suffered a fractured skull and third degree burns amongst other injuries in the terrorist attack three weeks ago. and was being treated at Bethesda Hospital in Quantico, Virginia. He never woke from his medically induced coma-”

“- After twenty-four days, the Air Force marks an end to the daily flyovers over DC. Citizens everywhere are still being urged to stay inside after certain hours, as the determination of any additional threats continues to be made.”

“‘No one should be above the rest of us. We need to put country first.’ Inspiring words from President Baker, nearly two months after the Oval Office terror attack, as he signs the SB 1070 bill into law. It becomes one of the broadest and strictest alien rights laws passed in United States History. “

“-there can be no divided allegiance here. Anyone who says they are an American, but something else also, isn't an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag. We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people-”

“- it’s been six months since the terrorist attack that rocked a nation. There are talks of a memorial to be installed on Capitol Hill-”

“-- alleged reports of a woman claiming to be the real Supergirl on the Whitehouse lawn. And I have to say Jim, she looks just like her. And I’ll be damned- she can fly just like the -expletive- did too.”

“Well if those reports are true, it begs the question- who has been in prison for the last seven months?”  
…. …. …

“Weapons. Cellphones. Sharp objects. Anything metallic needs to be removed before going on the airfield. They will be stored in the locker here at the base entrance and returned as mandated at the end of the visit-”

Maggie listens. She does, but the words sift straight through her mind, storing themselves down deep where she doesn’t have to process them immediately, because oh she is so, so angry.

Anger is all that she has felt in the last few months, the phantom heat of it tightening her chest, clogging her throat, sweeping over everything thick and sour and hot like molasses.

Anger at Baker’s corrupt administration and their normalization of xenophobia and casual hatred.

Anger at the media for giving monsters like Ben Lockwood a platform to spew caustic insults, that allowed events to escalate to where things currently stood. 

Anger at Lex for being so goddamn narcissistic and power hungry that he needed a terrorist attack to fuel his ego.

Anger at President Baker because he had known… he had planned it with Luthor and checked his conscious at the door to secure that vote and ram through his legislation.

And terrifyingly, for the briefest of moments, anger at Kara, who saw things in absolutes, and believed so whole-heartedly in the innate goodness of people, that she went to DC that night to help, and surrendered willingly when they trained their weapons on her. And Maggie wonders often what went through the blonde’s head in those moments. Why she went with them, instead of flying back to her family. So they could help.

It is a disgusting, horrible, and sour thing to hold within herself so deeply. That anger. Yet she holds onto it tightly, anchors it down, and doesn’t let herself feel anything else, because the fear, the worry, the exhaustion, and everything she should be feeling is everywhere in Alex. 

Alex Danvers is brave and is stronger than anyone, but those closest to her will ever know. 

The way the taller brunette held herself together publicly, during depositions, court hearings, and those goddamn protests is something the detective will never cease to admire. Yet during those same days, weeks, and months behind closed doors, it had hurt Maggie to look at her, to look at the bags under her bloodshot eyes, to look at the way her hands trembled, to look at the way she paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Harder still, on the nights where her wife broke down completely and fully, when it was just the two of them alone, and it was all Maggie could do to just hold her as she cried. 

Alex hovers near the detective now, her brunette hair, longer and curlier since the incident, slicing shadows across her face. Everything in her wife’s movements is painfully robotic as she schools herself into that warped professional tunnel vision, jaw clenched so tightly her temple contorts, as she sets her cellphone into the plastic tub, then shrugs off her winter coat so it can be examined under the security scanner as well.

“Sawyer.”

Lucy mutters quietly, urging her away from her thoughts, and Maggie swallows hard shifting her sight towards the woman. Before this she had only ever met the youngest of the Lane siblings in passing, the woman having moved away from National City before Maggie even thought of moving there. Yet through this all, Lucy has been by their side like she’d never left, fighting this with them, even through two demotions and a threatened removal of her military rank. 

And she stands here now as the military liaison, her last name stitched into the breast plate of her Air Force Blues, calm and collected, yet gentle as she nods the detective toward the security scans. 

Maggie unwinds under sickly, fluorescent lighting, forcing herself to move with deadened legs and comply with the order, even when everything she has on her feels numb in her hands as they go into the container.

It is almost sickening how mundane it is. 

That this isn’t Guantanamo. That it isn’t Area 51. Or any of the other places the media suspected that the alien would be taken to. 

Instead, it is the Misajon airfield. Comprised of a single strip of concrete, a leaky barracks, a mess hall, and an Intel cabin all jammed in an anonymous windy field just outside Kenai. 

Alaska.

And she knows why they chose it.

Kenai is one of the northernmost cities of Alaska. 

It only sees sunlight for about six hours a day.

The bastards really thought of everything. 

And allegedly, Misajon hasn’t been occupied, truly occupied for decades.

Another lie.

“- taking such a long time to getting this set up. You know the military… how slow they are with these things. We had some, er… compliance issues when we attempted to get our communications network properly set up. As you can see, it’s taken care of now.”

The army lieutenant, Paulson, according to the breastplate of his uniform, is saying. 

The redhead is tall and lean in his sturdy, bulky combat uniform, but his demeanor is too casual and too bright for the seriousness of this situation. It comes off as disgustingly apathetic when they exit the Intel cabin and follow him across the frosty grass of the empty airfield, toward a small squadron of other soldiers, already in formation under the pale hue of the waning moon.

She senses that Lucy and Alex feel the same way, and even catches Lucy bristle out of the corner of her eye, but neither of them said anything, choosing to survey their surroundings instead.

Surely, thinking what she is.

Where is she?

And another pang of anger stabs at her heart, knowing it is just them doing this.

That under the new law, J’onn and Brainy aren’t even allowed on military bases without official approval from the alien legislative board.

And that Alex had to beg Clark to stay on Argo with his wife, Lucy’s sister, and his child, because they knew he would have been arrested, if not shot down, the second he entered American airspace. 

Because no kid deserves to grow up without a father.

“Paulson to Scabbard, do you copy?”

The tall lieutenant says into his radio, after exchanging handshakes with members of the squadron, like it was some big game. 

“Scabbard, copy.”

An older, faint voice filters through, distorted by the interference. 

“Liaisons are on site. Permission for prisoner transport has been given. Ready to initiate transfer.” 

The air around them is thick and the silence so oppressive that not even a knife would cut through it, as they wait. Alex exhales a shuddering breath that steams the air in front of her, and Maggie reaches to run her fingers over her wife’s knuckles, and hopes it calms her, though nothing really will until this is over, but Alex smiles gratefully anyway, even if it’s watery around the edges and doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

It is five- ten- fifteen minutes, before they hear the rumbles of movement and an escort of three military Humvees with tinted windows breaches the horizon, guiding a larger vehicle, something that vaguely resembles an armored semi-truck to a designated area under the massive skylights about fifty yards away from them. 

The men with them straighten to attention, stiff as Maggie feels, as she watches the delivering team disembark out of the Humvees with powered rifles in their hands, the green tips of them glinting darkly in the night.

“Lane, with me.” 

Paulson mutters, as the men in front of them move to disengage locks from the semi, gesturing towards the Air Force Officer to step over the self-imposed barrier. It’s protocol that she goes, and not them, as glorified civilians. It is a topic they’ve discussed before they’d even stepped foot in Alaska, though it doesn’t mean it hurts any less, when they are forced to stay behind. 

Lucy doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause, stepping past the barrier, following the man up to the others, exchanging military formalities.

And when the door opens, Maggie’s breath catches in her lungs.

There are three individuals inside. 

Two more soldiers.

Standing strong and tall and emotionless with assault rifles in their hands.

But across from them, sitting on the built-in metal benches, is someone not dressed like the others.

Bits and pieces flash by in the flurry of movement.

Silver encased forearms, burnt orange fabric, and long blonde hair.

And the detective knows it’s her.

Knows that this is the first time that she’s seeing her sister-in-law since that fateful night. 

Maggie catches a clear glimpse of Kara’s face – thinned out by stress, pale, sickly- under the gray skylight as the receiving team helps her to solid ground. Almost unrecognizable from the image of the vibrant, blue-eyed young woman Maggie remembers so clearly in her mind. And there are shackles on her ankles, firmly pressed against the orange jumpsuit that’s three sizes too big, and even more chains around her waist as well.

She doesn’t move when they let her go, sags further into herself, deflated, and even from this distance there are edges and angular distortions of bone and scrawny muscle that Maggie knows damn well weren’t there before.

And God.

The younger Danvers sister isn’t focusing on any of them, not the soldiers, not Lucy, no one, wavering on two feet, barely upright. 

Yet, the men don’t lower their guns. 

They’re still treating her like a terrorist. 

She wants to scream.

Instead, she squeezes Alex’s hand, feels her shaking underneath her grip. 

And doesn’t say it’s going to be okay, because it isn’t.

“I want the shackles off.”

Lucy orders, the firmness of the command echoing across the airfield. 

“Miss Lane, that’s not advised, she-”

“Major Lane.” Lucy corrects steelily, interrupting him. “And I don’t give a damn about what is advised. I want the shackles off of her. Now.”

There’s a brief pause, a battle of wills that fights for a second that seems like eons, then one of the delivering officers nods and someone reaches for a key. 

The guns are readjusted in antsy grips, safeties clicking off, aim steadying as one soldier approaches to release the bonds.

And she might have been too far to see the excruciating detail of everything going on yards away from them, but the green in the shackles when the lock mechanism releases is unmistakable. 

Jesus.

There are a few more words exchanged, quiet and indecipherable as Lucy lowers her voice again, glaring as the man removes the hunks of silver, then she is stepping towards Kara, who head bowed, enshrouded in silence, hasn’t even said a single word.

The youngest Lane is gentle when she handles the blonde, bringing her hand up to the edge of Kara’s elbow, whispering something that even the officers around the duo strain to hear, before urging her forward silently, the silhouettes of the army brass staining the backdrop as they drift closer.

And it’s in fits and starts that they get fifty feet, much less the hundred fifty it would take to cross the airfield, but it doesn’t matter because Alex is out from under the barrier, Maggie scrambling after her to meet them halfway, ignoring the rumbling of unease from the soldiers behind them, but no one stops them, and Maggie doesn’t know what she would have done if they did.

“Kara…”

Alex whispers and her voice is steady, impossibly steady when she skids to a stop, and there’s an abortive, spastic movement from the brunette as she forces herself not to reach out and hold her sister right then and there because the details are sharper closer up.

In how the hero trembles, shoulders hunched, fists hidden in the sleeves of the jumpsuit that dwarves her.

In how the faint sheen of emerald stains her veins, even when the glow from the rock had long since faded.

In how she won’t meet their eyes.

“Kara… Can… can you look at me?”

The blonde’s chin quivers, and her throat spasms and she doesn’t move.

“Please.”

Slowly, slowly Kara drags her vision to meet theirs and her eyes are dark, hooded, and fever-bright, both pupils blown so large, Maggie’s convinced they have her on something. 

“I… I d-didn’t do it, Al…”

The blonde breathes, hoarse and stilted, miserable and exhausted, and Maggie makes herself not think of the reasons for that. 

“I didn’t…”

She whispers again, words fracturing into two, eight, twenty pieces, into the air above them.

“I know. I know. I know…”

Alex whispers over and over, the salt of silent tears glinting off her skin in the moonlight, and her mouth opens again, to ask the question, but before she can the answer is given, in the way Kara crumbles forward. It is incredibly personal, Maggie thinks, the way they interact. That even with the inches the blonde has on her, Alex is able to tuck her into her shoulder, run her hands down Kara's back, and hold her close.

“I… I-I didn’t…”

Kara groans, drawing in a shuddering breath to say it again, desperately, words muffled into Alex’s coat, arms limp at her sides. 

And the backdrop of the sisters on the airfield brings tears to Maggie’s own eyes. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing to do with the story I just wrote, but I heard about Melissa's story and my heart goes out to anyone who has ever been a victim of abuse and the bravery she showed in sharing her story is insurmountable.


End file.
